An Unlikely Heir
by Elwen
Summary: Frodo and Bilbo learn to get on in Frodo's first weeks at Bag End. FINISHED
1. Default Chapter

**I wish I was clever enough to have thought up Middle Earth and all its occupants and events….but I didn't.  They all belong to JRR Tolkien and I'm just borrowing them.  I hope he doesn't turn in his grave too much!**

**AN UNLIKELY HEIR**

CHAPTER ONE

Bilbo closed his door on the retreating view of the cart, heading back down the road to Hobbiton.  Turning in the hallway he yelped as he stubbed a toe on one of the boxes piled by the coat rack.  Frodo's head popped out of his room as he heard his Uncle's exclamation.

"I'm sorry Uncle Bilbo.  I'll move them."  He rushed forward and picked up one of the boxes, setting it atop another and attempting to lift both.  Bilbo sighed and set his hand on the top of the pile.

"Frodo.  You'll hurt yourself carrying two.  One at a time will do." 

The younger hobbit looked up earnestly.  "It's alright Uncle.  I can manage."  He waited for Bilbo to remove his hand but his Uncle just shook his head.

"It's not important, lad.  One at a time will do.  I'd rather be safe than sorry.  It would never do for you to hurt yourself on your first night here."  It had been difficult enough to get the various aunties and uncles at Brandybuck Hall to trust him with the upbringing of the lad and he had no intention of proving their fears correct within hours of Frodo arriving in his home.

Sighing at what he saw as his uncles over protectiveness Frodo relented, releasing his grip on the bottom box and lifting only the top one. He suffered in silence as Bilbo reached out to ruffle his curls, smiling.

"Good lad.  You get this little lot into your room and I'll go and make us some tea.  Don't bother unpacking.  You can do that later."  He set off down the hall to the kitchen, limping slightly.  "I have a cherry tart.  If I remember correctly, that's your favourite."  

Tea was a rather quiet affair.  Bilbo was not particularly worried, however.  Frodo had chattered away like a whole flock of sparrows all the way here from Brandy Hall and the older hobbit suspected that it had been an attempt to cover his nervousness.  Frodo had been to visit his Uncle a few times over the past ten years but this was the beginning of a whole new life for him, for them both, Bilbo reminded himself.  Not for the first time, he worried about his ability to look after such a young hobbit.  He was a confirmed bachelor and knew little of the needs of a tweenager, other than what he could remember of his own life.  Still, Bell Gamgee had promised to help and she had raised six of her own.

Bilbo smiled as he saw his nephew eying the last piece of pie.  

"Help yourself, Frodo.  It was made especially for you.  If you finish it off we can bake another tomorrow."  

The young hobbit's hand paused in the act of reaching out and he looked questioningly at his Uncle.  "Bake?"  

Bilbo was stacking plates so he did not see Frodo's face.  "Yes, of course, my lad.  I've got some more cherries in the pantry and there's plenty of flour and such like.  We can have a fresh one tomorrow." He reached for the tea pot and noticed that the piece of pie still sat in its dish.  "Come on, now, I need that dish empty so that I can wash it," and he tipped the wedge on to Frodo's plate and stood to clear the table.

"Thank you, Uncle Bilbo," came the quiet reply.  

When he had finished eating, Frodo brought his plate to Bilbo for washing and started drying the clean pots.  When all had been dried and put away Bilbo smiled brightly at his nephew.  

"Well, now.  That's that job done.  Now, lets go and sort out that bedroom of yours or you won't be able to get into the bed tonight."

It did not take long to unpack Frodo's few boxes.  There were some personal things, including an old, battered teddy bear and a small portrait of Primula and Drogo, and an assortment of clean but miss matched and ill fitting clothes.  Bilbo surveyed the accumulated wealth of twenty two years and compared it to the luxury of Bag End.  The little hobbit's possessions hardly covered the bed.  Here, at least, was something that he could start to mend.  

With a poorly hidden smile Bilbo lifted one of the small heaps of shirts from the bed and handed them to his nephew.  

"Why don't you go and put these in your press, over there?"  The younger hobbit crossed obediently and opened the doors, looking for a convenient space when he found it already filled with fine clothes.  Uncle Bilbo obviously kept his spare wardrobe in here.  

"I'm sorry, Uncle.  There doesn't appear to be any room.  Never mind, I can put mine on the chair, over there."  Bilbo covered his mouth as he coughed but Frodo was surprised to see his eyes twinkling.  

"Oh dear.  Well, if there's no room we could always just throw yours away.  You can wear the ones in there, instead."

Frodo's eyes went wide.  Frodo was very slight for his age and his uncle's clothes would be most unlikely to fit him.  "It's very kind of you Uncle.  But I don't think I would look right in such finery.  I'll manage."

Bilbo jumped off the bed and relieved Frodo of his shirts.  "Nonsense, my lad.  Come over here and we'll take a look."  He pulled down a brown tweed jacket with deep velvet lapels and held it up against Frodo.  The young hobbit was surprised to find that it seemed to be the correct width across the shoulders.  Bilbo was chuckling now.  

"I was right about the colour.  It does suit you.  Mistress Willow thought it would be too dark but it goes well with your colouring.  Try it on and let's see if she got the fit correct for she could not try it on you and we only had the measurements provided by your Aunt Ezmarelda."

It took a moment for the words to register and Frodo just stood still.  His uncle shook his head and tugged off the old faded blue jacket.  He had almost finished before Frodo began to co-operate.  Then he held the new jacket for him while Frodo slipped his arms in.  Bilbo led him across the room to the tall mirror set in the corner and Frodo's mouth fell open in such amazement that his uncle could not help but laugh.  The jacket fitted perfectly, its soft fabric sleeked smoothly across his shoulders and flaring elegantly at his hips to drape in soft folds about his thighs.  Tears gathered in his eyes as he turned suddenly and favoured his uncle with a strong hug.  "Thank you, Uncle Bilbo."

Slightly embarrassed by such a display of emotion Bilbo patted his nephew on the back, a little awkwardly.  "There now.  If you react like that over a jacket wait until you see the breaches and the fine waistcoat that go with it."  He led his nephew back to the press.  "There are new linen shirts and undergarments and a couple of nightshirts, as well as some plainer breaches and jackets for everyday.  Oh, and there's a good thick green cloak, somewhere."  He watched with delight as Frodo began to investigate the shelves.  "If you're going to live the life of a gentlehobbit we must have you looking the part."

They had spent a good two hours going through the clothes press for Bilbo had insisted that Frodo try on all the jackets and waistcoats to check the fit, but Mistress Willow had done them proud and not a fault could be found.  By the time they had finished they had lit candles and Frodo was trying hard to stifle his yawns.  When Bilbo noticed him trying to swallow the third one he realised just how long a day it had been for the tweenager. 

"It's getting a bit late.  You clear up in here and put on your nightshirt and dressing gown and I'll go and get us a bite of supper.  Join me in the kitchen when you're finished."  He patted Frodo on the head and left.

By the time he had put everything away and changed into the soft linen nightshirt and warm woollen dressing gown Frodo was quite sleepy.  He lay down of the bed and closed his eyes for a moment, hoping that his Uncle would not mind him just having five minutes.  Bilbo waited over half an hour, and then came to see what the matter was.  If his nephew did not come to the table soon the cocoa would be cold.

When he opened the door the room was dark.  The candle by Frodo's bedside had burned down and gone out and the young hobbit was curled up on his side, his back to the door.  Bilbo tiptoed in and came around the bed, the flickering light of his candle glinting gold in his nephew's mass of chestnut curls.  Dark lashed lids were drawn shut over impossibly blue eyes and the pale face was peaceful and still at last.  Bilbo set down his candle and lifted his nephew so that he could fold down the blankets and sheets.  The young lad hardly weighed a thing and the job of pulling down the covers and then drawing them over him and tucking them in was done easily.  Frodo was so deeply asleep that his only reaction was a slight sigh as he snuggled deeper into the feather pillows.

For several minutes Bilbo stood watching him sleep, smoothing back a stray chestnut lock from the lad's forehead.  He looked down at the innocent face and knew that there was no going back.  Drogo's son had slipped in to his heart.  He could not say that the road they were travelling would be smooth but he knew that he could not now envisage travelling that road without this child at his side.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Frodo awoke slowly, relishing the warmth and comfort of the feather mattress and the fresh smell of soft linens.  Whenever he stayed at Bag End Bilbo let him lie in.  At Brandy Hall that was impossible, with the constant chatter of adults and hoards of children running up and down the hallways.  He tried to roll over but found himself entangled.  Why had he gone to bed wearing his dressing gown?  

"Come to think of it," he thought, "I don't remember going to bed at all."

His stomach began to make its presence felt, growling loudly at the smell of bacon, wafting under the door to his room and he sat up.  Breakfast.  Now there was a nice thought.  Pushing back the covers he found a jug of hot water set on his wash stand, along with a cake of lavender soap and several fluffy towels.  Bilbo must have brought them in but Frodo had no recollection of hearing him in the room.  He poured water into the bowl and took off his dressing gown, shaking his head ruefully when he saw how creased it was.

At the patter of light feet behind him, Bilbo turned from the kitchen range and smiled at his nephew.  The lad was wearing one of his old outfits from Brandy Hall.  Perhaps Bilbo could persuade him to change in to something more suitable for the heir to Bag End after breakfast.  "Good morning, Frodo.  Did you sleep well?"

"Good morning, Uncle.  I slept well but I'm afraid my dressing gown is a little creased.  I seem to have slept in it." And then he added, sheepishly, "I didn't intend to."  

Bilbo worried at the concern in his face, and then remembered that at Brandy Hall the lad had relied on the good will of others to get his ironing done. Such carelessness there, would have earned him a good talking to or even a cuff around the ear.  

"That's alright my lad.  It's my fault.  You fell asleep while you were waiting for supper and I put you to bed.  I didn't have the heart to wake you to take it off so I tucked you in as you were.  I must try not to keep you up so late in future.  I'm not used to having a young one around the place."  He felt relieved when he saw a little smile. 

"If you hang it up for the moment we'll take a look at it later."  Frodo's smile broadened.  "Come, sit down and eat your breakfast.  I'm afraid you missed first breakfast but if there's not enough on the table there's plenty of bread and strawberry jam to fill up the corners."  At his Uncle's kindness, Frodo's smile widened into a grin.

As he had the previous evening, Frodo helped wash and put away the dishes.  Then Bilbo sent him off to his room to change in to some of his new clothes.  "After all, you're a Baggins of Bag End, now.  You should dress the part of a gentlehobbit."  Bilbo ruffled Frodo's hair again.  (Frodo thought he may well come to dislike that habit.)  With a pat of his nephews shoulder Bilbo wandered off down the hall and Frodo went to change.  

When he came back it took him a while to find his Uncle.  He finally tracked him down to his study.  The room was a clutter of books and papers, strewn in heaps on every available surface and overflowing on to the floor.  Bilbo was sitting at his desk.  "Hello, Frodo.  Did you want something?"

"Er……not really, Uncle.  What are you doing?"

"I usually do a little writing in the morning.  Would you like a book to read?"  It suddenly occurred to Bilbo that he had little idea of his nephew's likes and dislikes, other than in the matter of food, of course.

Frodo considered for a moment, eyeing the sunshine pouring through the open window.  His Uncle may consider him rude if he said that he would rather go outside.

"Yes, thank you, Uncle Bilbo."  He felt better about his decision when Bilbo's face lit up in a pleased smile.

"You'll find lots of books over there on the shelves.  Go and help yourself.  I'm sure there will be something to interest you."  That settled, Bilbo turned his attention to the translation before him.

Frodo picked his way through the clutter to the indicated corner.  He did enjoy reading but most of the books he was allowed access to at Brandy Hall were much thumbed and often missing pages, having been read and re-read by several generations of children.  Bilbo's books were bound in fine leather and tooled in gold, their spines pristine and unbroken.  He pulled one out at random from the top shelf and opened it.  The writing within was in a neat flowing hand but the letters did not make sense.  He put it back and selected another.  Again, he could not understand the language.  It suddenly dawned on him that they were written in an elven tongue.  Perhaps gentlehobbits like Bilbo only read elvish.

If he had checked the other shelves he would have found ones written in Westron, but he had accidentally found his Uncle's cache of books sent from Rivendell.  Bilbo was only one of perhaps half a dozen people in the whole Shire who understood the elegant Quenyan script.  Feeling like a country bumpkin, Frodo slotted the book back.

Bilbo was deep in his studies and had not even notice when his nephew slipped out of the room, down the hall and out in to the warm sunshine of the summer garden.  He had hoped that when he came to live with Bilbo he would have a close relative, all his own: that he would no longer have to compete for attention.  But it seemed that the competition now came from books rather than his cousins.

Gaffer Gamgee was working in the garden, as usual.  Frodo sprinted across the lawn to him.  "Hello, Mr Gamgee.  What are you doing?"

The Gaffer looked up, putting hand to forelock in salute to the new Little Master of Bag End.  "Mornin', Master Frodo.  I'm just tyin' back these sweet peas.  They're gettin' a bit away from themselves."

Frodo laughed.  "Can I help?"

The Gaffer stepped back, in horror.  "You helpin' me?  Why that wouldn't be proper, Little Master.  What ever would Mr Bilbo say if you got yourself all dirty messin' in the garden?"  

Frodo looked down at his silk waistcoat.  The Gaffer's voice grew quiet, and he looked around as if expecting someone to pop out of the bushes at any moment.  

"And what if someone else saw?  Folks would say that the Gaffer didn't know his place.  No.  Master Frodo.  It's not proper work for the likes of a gentlehobbit."

Having set out his points and expecting no objections to his flawless logic, he returned to the fiddly task at hand, leaving Frodo to wander away, feeling rather stupid.  He started a mental list of the things a gentlehobbit was not supposed to do and set gardening just below wearing old clothes.

Frodo spent the rest of the morning wandering about Hobbiton and re-acquainting himself with the area, returning to Bag End just in time to find Bilbo setting the table for lunch.  

"Hello, lad.  I was hoping you would be back in time to help me get lunch ready, but never mind.  Go and wash your hands and then come and tell me all about your morning while we eat."  The young hobbit ran to his room to wash, wandering about Bilbo's comment.  He had always eaten in the refectory at Brandy Hall and no-one had ever thought to teach him to cook.  He decided he would have to start another list of things Frodo should know, as a gentlehobbit, but did not.  Reading elvish was set at the top, with cooking just below it. 

Over lunch, Bilbo declared his intention to bake in the afternoon and told his nephew not to make any arrangements to go out as he would need his assistance.  Aside from making a further cherry pie they were running out of bread so Bilbo advised Frodo that he would be popping down Bagshot Row to ask Mrs Gamgee if she could spare some yeast.  That left Frodo to his own devices for a while.  He was beginning to feel that he had stepped in to a puddle way over his head.  Uncle Bilbo had taken him in, expecting him to be a gentlehobbit that he could be proud of.  Instead of that, Frodo was a huge disappointment to the older hobbit.  He had rudely fallen asleep, without eating any supper on his first night here, he could not read elvish, he had offended the Gaffer and now, to cap it all, he could not even cook.  Frodo suspected that Bilbo would soon tire of constantly having to look after his nephew.

The young hobbit considered the table before him.  Bilbo had set it out for their baking session.  There was lard and flour, a large bowl of cherries, milk and sugar for the yeast, salt and some little pots of ground spices.  Frodo could not let his Uncle know that he had no idea what to do with all these ingredients, not to mention the strange assortment of utensils.  If he did not live up to Bilbo's expectations he would be packed up and sent straight back to Brandy Hall.  Perhaps there was some way he could postpone the baking.  His eyes roamed the table again and finally came to rest upon the large bag of flour.  There was a prank that he and Fatty had played o the cook at Brandy Hall a few years ago.  Frodo grinned.  They had been grounded for a week for that one.  (Secretly, Frodo had been quite happy to stay in his room and have all his meals brought to him.  Feeling a little sorry for him, his Uncle Saradac had sometimes stayed to chat with the little mischief maker.)  He would have to be quick though 

Frodo pulled the kitchen door slightly ajar and dragged a chair from the fireplace so that he could reach.  Then he collected the flour bag and climbed up.  It took him an age (or so it seemed) to balance the floppy open bag atop the door but he finally stepped back, pleased with his work, and sat down at the table to await his Uncle's return.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Whoomph…….. "FRODO!!!!!!"

Perhaps not quite the reaction Frodo was aiming for.  He had never seen Bilbo angry before.  He did look rather funny though and Frodo was trying very hard not to laugh.

His Uncle was standing in the doorway, a rotund apparition: white from top to toe, with a little pyramid of flour perched atop his head.  The air was misted with the fine dust and everything in the room would soon be covered.  At the moment it was like looking at the world through a sea fret but it didn't feel like mist when you breathed it in.  Bilbo managed to dislodge his flour hat with a series of violent sneezes, followed by bought of dry coughing.  As the fine particles drifted across the room they set Frodo to coughing and sneezing too and in the end the two had to escape to the hallway in order to draw breath.

Once they were both back in control Bilbo glared at his nephew.  Frodo was rapidly coming to the conclusion that he may have been in less trouble if he had just confessed to not being able to cook. 

"Frodo, Son of Drogo.  Just what were you trying to do?" shouted Bilbo.  Even under the layer of white flour Frodo could see that his face was almost purple.

"It was a joke, Uncle Bilbo.  It was funny when Fatty and I did it a few years ago at Brandy Hall."  For some reason that sounded very lame.

Frodo found himself staring at a large white finger wagging up and down just beyond the tip of his nose.  "It may have been accepted as funny from a fifteen year old but you are now a tweenager, young sir.  I would expect you to display a little more common sense."

The young hobbit hung his head.  This had not gone the way he had hoped and the only good thing that had come of it was that there was now no chance of baking.

"I'm sorry Uncle.  I'll go and clean it all up, shall I?"

"I should think you will go and clean it up.  Every last grain, mind you.  You will find cleaning materials in the cupboard next to the pantry."

"Yes Uncle."

"I am going to change and have a bath.  You will find me in the study when you have finished.  Report to me when you're done and I will then set your punishment."

It took Frodo the whole afternoon to clean the kitchen to Bilbo's satisfaction.  It was hard work for as soon as he had wiped down a surface more dust settled.   Eventually he reported to his Uncle and Bilbo came to inspect the work.  The older hobbit was quite pleased to see that Frodo could apply himself diligently to a task when he tried,  and by now he was beginning to see the funny side.  He dare not show it in front of Frodo, however.

"You have done a very creditable job of cleaning up but you know that I must punish you for this, do you not?"

"Yes Uncle."  Frodo could not bring himself to look at Bilbo's face.

"Your punishment will be to cook breakfast, first breakfast, mind you, for one week."

Frodo's heart sank and he could feel the tears stinging his eyes already.  Unused to the lightening mood changes of young people, Bilbo grew confused when he saw Frodo's reaction.  He felt sure he had not over done the punishment.  

"What's the matter, lad.  Surely it's not that bad a punishment to get up a couple of hours earlier and fry some bacon and eggs."  Tears did flow then and Bilbo couldn't stand it.  He lifted the little one's chin.  "What is it?"

Frodo's voice was barely more than a whisper.  "I can't cook."

Suddenly the reason for the prank became clear.  "Why didn't you say so, Frodo, my lad?  We can soon remedy that."  In an attempt to put things right, he added, "I know.  Instead of you cooking breakfast, your punishment will be to help me prepare every meal for a week.  That way you will learn how to cook as you go."  Bilbo was rewarded with a broad smile of relief.

"Yes, please, Uncle Bilbo." 

"And your first lesson is to stop calling me Uncle.  Just plain old Bilbo will do."

"Yes Un……..Bilbo."

"Good.  Then let's start tea.  I am quite ravenous."

By the time he went to bed that evening Frodo was beginning to feel a little better about living the life of a gentlehobbit.  To the list of things not to do he would have to add, practical jokes, but on the list of things to learn he could cross off cooking.  Well, perhaps that was a little premature, but soon.


	4. chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

The next few weeks passed uneventfully.  Bilbo directed Frodo to the books written in Westron and Frodo learned to cook.  Once he got the hang of it he found he quite enjoyed it, although Bilbo had to suffer some rather indigestible breakfasts on occasion. 

Frodo was beginning to feel rather lonely, however.  The only other hobbit of about his own age was Daisy Gamgee and she seemed to spend most of her time batting her eyelids at him and giggling.  It was very difficult to hold a conversation with someone who agreed, wholeheartedly with absolutely everything you said.

When Bilbo had suggested that he come to live with him Frodo had jumped at the chance.  Whenever he visited Bag End, Bilbo always had something interesting planned.  They would go on long walks, sometimes even camping overnight or visit the fair.  Sometimes Bilbo would take him to the market and at other times he would just sit and recount tales from his big adventure.  Frodo was the centre of attention, something that he had not been since his parents died, and he found it very comforting.

Now that he had come to live at Bag End, however, Bilbo had left him very much to his own devises.  For most of each day Bilbo would shut himself in his study and he got a bit crotchety if Frodo interrupted him too often.  In fact, for a few days, Frodo had tried an experiment, to see how many interruptions he could get away with before Bilbo started rolling his eyes and sighing.  He discovered that three times within two hours would usually do it.

Then he found another game.  Seeing how late he could stay up.  It was easy at first.  Frodo found that if he stayed quiet and still, just out of Bilbo's direct line of sight, he could get away with at least an extra hour.  When that stopped working he tried turning back the hands on the clock on the mantle.  That trick had to stop when Bilbo took the timepiece to be mended.  His uncle was a little surprised when the clock maker said that he found it to keep perfect time.

That was when Bilbo cottoned on to his nephew's tricks and consulted Bel Gamgee.  Bel laughed long and hard when she heard what was happening. 

"My Hamson used to do the same sort of thing."  Bilbo looked shocked and she started to laugh again.  "It's a tweenage thing, Mr Baggins.  He's itchin' to stretch his wings an' stayin' up late is the grown up thing to do.  It's nothin' to worritt about.  You just mind he don't get away with it.  I know you, where Master Frodo is concerned.  You're too soft on him.  Not that what it's difficult to be otherwise with that sweet face."  She smiled and glanced at Daisy, who was sitting at the table, side to middling one of Samwise's worn sheets and trying to pretend she wasn't listening.  Bilbo only smiled, ruefully.

"How are the cookin' lessons comin' on?"  Bel asked, turning to the kitchen range and checking on her coney stew.

"He's doing very well, Bel.  I don't think he'll ever be as good as you but he should, at least, be able to look after himself."

Bel sniffed.  "Fancy getting' to his age and not bein' able to cook.  T'aint natural for a hobbit.  Just confirms all that I've heard about them folk down Brandywine way.  Beggin' yer pardon an' all, Mr Bilbo.  But its small wonder he's as thin as a lat."

Bilbo chuckled.  "Well, it's not really anyone's fault.  When his mother and father died no-one seemed to have much time to take him under their wing.  He wasn't neglected, mind you, just overlooked."

Bel refilled Bilbo's teacup.  "I expect that's why he was always getting' in trouble then.  Children will do whatever is necessary to get some lovin' attention.  If they can't get love they'll settle for attention and getting' into scrapes would have certainly got him that.

"You may be right, Bel.  He does seem to follow me around a lot.  He was driving me to distraction with interruptions the other day.  I'm afraid I may have got a little cross with him."  Bilbo sipped his tea, thoughtfully.

"Why, Mr Baggins.  I don't rightly remember ever seein' you cross." Bel laughed.  "Whatever did you do?"

"Oh, nothing terrible," Bilbo replied, hurriedly.  "I just asked him if he would please stop interrupting because I was rather busy.  I felt rather guilty afterwards because we haven't really sat down and chatted for quite a while.  But every time I find the time, he's not there.  What he finds to do all day I could not tell you and he certainly never tells me."

Bel sat down at the table and refilled her own cup.  "You used to go walkin' with the lad when he visited before, didn't you?"

"Yes.  But he must have got fed up with that.  And, anyway, we both seem to be too busy."

Bel smiled.  "Are you busy, Mr Baggins?  I know you like to sit with yer writin' but is it more important than Frodo?  And are you sure he's busy?  Daisy tells me he spends most of his time sittin' up a tree, reading.  Although what any sensible hobbit would be doin' climbin' a tree I don't know."

Bilbo was puzzled.  "I thought he must have found a friend and didn't want an old uncle around."

Bel let out an exasperated sigh at the blindness of bachelors.  "And what other hobbits do you know of in Hobbiton that are around Frodo's age?"

Bilbo stared at her blankly.  "I had never really considered.   Are there any?"

"No, Mr Baggins.  About the closest is my Daisy, and she's not really fit company for a gentlehobbit."  She cast a threatening glare at Daisy when the girl made to disagree.

Bilbo's confusion grew.  "Whatever do you mean, Bel?  Daisy is a lovely girl."

"And, there, you've said it, sir."  Bel laughed.  "A girl.  Young Frodo needs some male company.  There'll be plenty of time for the lasses later."

Lasses.  Bilbo felt a cold lump settle in his stomach.  Just how much did Frodo know about lasses?  Had any of the uncles at Brandy Hall taken him aside to explain that one?  Each time he felt he was coping with the problems, another reared its ugly head.  Did all parents feel as inadequate as this?

"Why, whatever is the matter, Mr Bilbo?  You've gone as white as Daisy's sheet."

"Nothing, Bel.  I was just worrying about the future again."  He shook his head.  "I must get out of that habit."

"Good gracious, yes.  Today has worrits enough of its own.  Tomorrows worrits often never happen."

"You're quite right," replied Bilbo, although he suspected he had better tackle this particular problem soon, from the way Daisy went all doe eyed when Frodo was around.  What had he let himself in for?

It occurred to Bilbo that he had not realised, until now, how much Frodo's presence would change his life.  His mind had conjured pictures of the two of them sitting by the fire, reading or smoking.  He had thought of the lad as a bit of company and had not realised just how young Frodo was and how much parenting he still needed.  Bilbo was determined not to let his nephew down, however.  If parenting was what he needed then Bilbo would have to rise to the challenge.  He had dealt with a dragon, for goodness sake.  How much harder could this be?

While all this had been going on in his mind, Bel had been pursuing her own line of thought.  "If you don't mind me saying so, I think what you need is some time together.  You both like walking.  Why don't you take the lad on a hike?"

"I'd love to.  All I have to do is find him to ask him."

Bel laughed.  "I usually manage to catch up with my children at meal times.  You can usually catch a hobbit at meal times."

Side to middling.  _In poorer households, when a bed sheet started to wear thin in the middle it was the custom to cut it up the centre, lengthways and then turn the two pieces so that the more fragile fabric was at the edges.  The two pieces of the sheet were then sewn back together up the centre and fresh hems turned at the edges._


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

As luck would have it, when Bilbo returned to Bag End he found Frodo at home.  Not only was his nephew at home, but he was cooking tea.  Bilbo's nose twitched at the delicious smell of mushrooms.

"Frodo.  What a lovely surprise.  What have you cooked up for us?"

The younger hobbit beamed.  "Mushrooms, creamed with a little onion, on toast.  I hope you like mushrooms, Bilbo."

"I've yet to meet a mushroom I didn't like, my lad.  And if my stomach doesn't get to say hello to these soon I shall faint clean away."

When he had a mind to let it loose, Frodo had the brightest, purest laugh Bilbo had ever heard and he honoured Bilbo with a merry peel of it as his uncle sat down at the kitchen table.  

When they had finished the mushrooms, the last of the scones from the previous day's baking, some bread and jam, a small cherry pie and some seed cake Bilbo loaded his pipe and settled back, while Frodo took care of the washing up.

"My, my, Frodo.  That was a good tea.  I didn't even know we had any mushrooms.  When did we buy them?  I'm sure I can't remember.  Maybe I'm getting forgetful as I get older."

"Er….I don't remember you buying them, Bilbo, dear.  They were rather nice ones though."

Something in the way the young lad worded his reply set alarm bells ringing in Bilbo's head but just as he was about to pursue the matter he was interrupted by a knock at the door.  Now who could that be?  When he opened it he was confronted by a tight lipped Hugo Brownlock.  "Good evening, Farmer Brownlock.  What brings you to Bag End?" asked Bilbo, pleasantly.

Hugo did not smile.  "I understand you've your nephew, Frodo, livin' with you now.  Is he at home?"

The alarm bells in Bilbo's head began to ring more loudly.  "Yes, he is.  We have just finished eating but I am sure we could find you a bite to eat and a cup of tea.  Won't you come in?"

"I'll take you up on the offer to come in but I recon I'd better hold up on the tea until you've heard what I've come about."  He followed Bilbo down the hall to the kitchen.  "Is that mushrooms I smell?" asked Farmer Brownlock.

"Why, yes it is.  Frodo has just cooked us some.  I'm afraid we ate them all, though, didn't we, lad?"  The last question was spoken to Frodo, who was just about to exit through the back door.  He took a deep breath and turned to face the two older hobbits.

"Yes, Bilbo."

Bilbo was confused.  Farmer Brownlock was staring hard at Frodo, his lips clenched in a thin line of anger.  Frodo, on the other hand, was studying the floor tiles intently and shuffling uneasily from one foot to the other.  Bilbo folded his arms.  "Would one of you care to tell me what this is all about?"

It was Hugo that broke the silence.  "As you know, Mr Baggins, I grow some of the best mushrooms this side of Hobbiton, though I say so myself, as shouldn't, you may say.  I'm used to keepin' an eye out for young hobbits helpin' themselves to the odd one or two.  And I don't mind one or two, but I get a bit angry when they start helpin' themselves to a basket full.  I get my own young 'uns to watch over the fields when they're able."  He waited a moment, still staring at Frodo, who would not meet his gaze and was now blushing furiously.  The alarm bells in Bilbo's head were joined by a growling in his stomach as he suddenly developed problems digesting his creamed mushrooms.  When Frodo made no sound Hugo continued.  

"Well, this afternoon my Marigold was walking by the field when she spied a strange young hobbit that she'd not seen before.  He was picking mushrooms, a lot of mushrooms, mind you.  She ran home as fast as she could to tell me but by the time I got there the culprit had gone.  She described him well enough that I suspect I know by his fancy waistcoat who he is but I'd like to hear him own up himself."

Frodo finally raised his head.  At first his face was defiant and Bilbo thought he would deny the act, but then he swallowed and his expression changed.  "I'm sorry, Farmer Brownlock.  It was me.  I wanted to surprise Bilbo and I didn't have any money to offer you for the mushrooms."  

He hung his head again and Bilbo saw a large tear splash on the tiles at the lad's feet.  For a moment, the older hobbit wanted to pull Frodo to him in a hug, but then he remembered Bel's warning.  Frodo had done something wrong and Hugo was missing a large part of the profit from his field of mushrooms.  

"I'm glad you owned up to the theft, lad," said Hugo.  "But if everyone went around takin' what they felt like, without payin' or askin' the world would be a very sorry place.  Your sorry wont put clothes on my growin' lasses and lads."

"You are quite right, Farmer Brownlock" added Bilbo.  "I shall pay you for the mushrooms, of course.  But I think that Frodo should make amends too."

"I thank you for your offer of payment, Mr Baggins but I think that if Master Frodo will make amends that will do for me.  I'll not exact payment twice.  That wouldn't be proper."

Bilbo smiled to himself.  He knew that Hugo really did need the money to feed his over large family but suspected that, like the Gaffer, he would not accept it.  "That's very kind of you.  What do you suggest would be fair payment?"

"Well, lookin' at the bare patch in my field, I think a days wage for a farm labourer would cover it."  He looked at Bilbo, expectantly.

"So, Frodo.  It looks as though you are to be a labourer for a day at Deep Coomb Farm.  Perhaps, if you see how much hard work goes in to the growing of mushrooms, you will feel more inclined to pay for your next batch."  It hurt Bilbo to speak so to his obviously contrite nephew but the lesson had to be learned.

Frodo looked up again and finally managed to meet Farmer Brownlock's eye.  "Yes, Uncle.  When would you like me to come, Mr Brownlock?"

"I don't believe in lettin' these things lay too long.  That's no good for anyone.  The sooner you get it done the sooner we can put it behind us and start new.  Would tomorrow suit?"

Frodo looked at Bilbo for confirmation and his uncle nodded.  "Yes, sir.  Tomorrow will do well.  I shall be there at nine o'clock."

Hugo laughed.  "Lesson number one, lad.  Farmers get up with the sun, if not before.  You'll be there at five o'clock and you'll work 'till sundown."

Frodo paled but nodded.  "I'll be there."

Hugo nodded in approval.  "Well, I'd best be off.  The cows need milking and my missus will be worritin'."

Bilbo saw him to the door, thanking him for giving Frodo the opportunity to set things right.  Farmer Brownlock winked, conspiratorially.  "Between you, me an' the gate post, Mr Baggins, I got in a few scrapes myself when I were a lad.  An' don't you worritt about this getting' about.  My Marigold won't go tellin' what she saw."  With that he shook Bilbo's hand and left.

Bilbo turned, just in time to see Frodo run from the kitchen to the indoor privy, from where Bilbo shortly heard the sounds of retching.  He sighed and headed off to the kitchen to make some mint tea to settle the lad's stomach.  He could do with some himself.  How on earth Bel and the Gaffer had managed to bring up six he could not imagine.

A few minutes later, Bilbo heard his nephew's soft step moving down the hall to his room.

"Frodo.  Come in here, please."  The footsteps paused for what seemed like a long time, and then resumed.  Frodo entered the kitchen, rather sheepishly.  He looked very pale and shaky and his luxuriant dark brown curls were stuck to his forehead with perspiration.

Once again, Bilbo wanted to pull him in to a hug.  He looked so pitiful.  "You'd best come and sit down, before you fall down, lad."  Frodo complied and his uncle passed him a steaming cup of mint tea.  "Drink that down."

The younger hobbit eyed it and swallowed hard.  "I don't think I can, Uncle Bilbo."  His bottom lip was quivering and Bilbo saw him shudder.

"It will settle your stomach.  Come on now.  No nonsense."

Frodo picked up the cup, having to hold it in both hands to prevent the tea from spilling, and sipped slowly.  After a couple of mouthfuls he had to admit that his stomach did feel a bit better.  "Thank you, Uncle Bilbo."

Bilbo was sad to hear that he was once more 'Uncle Bilbo' instead of 'Bilbo'.  "What am I going to do with you, Frodo, my lad?"

He did not think it possible but his nephew's face grew even paler.  "Please, don't send me back to Brandy Hall, Uncle." His voice rose and his face began to crumple.  "I didn't mean to cause you so much trouble."

Tears spilled over and down Frodo's face and Bilbo could stand it no longer.  Within a heart beat he came around the table and sat down next to the sobbing tweenager, hugging him close and rubbing his back.

"There, there now.  Don't fret so.  I wont do that to you, but I don't know what I am going to do with you………Come on, now…………Ssssshhhhhhhh……..It's all right, lad.  I'm not cross with you anymore…….just disappointed."  The sobs continued, however and Bilbo tried to get him to drink some more of the mint tea.

"What made you do it, lad?"  He still kept his arm around his nephew and Frodo leaned his head against his uncle's shoulder, trying to sip his tea, in an attempt to please the older hobbit.

"I thought you were disappointed in me.  I can't read elvish, I can't cook and I keep interrupting you when you're trying to work.  I try to stay out of your way as much as I can but I get lonely."  As he spoke the tears increased and Bilbo pulled him closer.  

"I wanted to please you and show you how much better I had become, but I didn't have any money to buy the mushrooms."  He sobbed.  "The field was so big that I didn't think the farmer would mind me taking a few."  Frodo buried his face in his uncle's waistcoat in despair, his tears darkening the fine burgundy brocade.

"Oh, Frodo.  You're not a disappointment to me.  Far from it.  I love you as though you were my own and nothing you do could make me love you any more or less."  His hand moved in circles on Frodo's back, in an attempt to soothe the overwrought tweenager but it did not seem to be working very well and, having no experience in such matters, he was becoming a little concerned.

"But you…….j…..just said that you……..w…….were disappointed," wailed the lad, becoming more and more agitated.

Bilbo's heart flopped queasily.  He had, indeed, said just that and he was beginning to discover how a carelessly chosen word could damage a young mind.  "Only for this one mistake.  And then, only because I had not heard your reason.  I'm sorry if I hurt you by saying that.  Come on, now.  Stop crying.  I'm not going to send you away……….Ssshhhhhh."

Frodo had set down the remainder of his tea and was now leaning helplessly against his uncle, the sobs so deep that Bilbo almost had to support him to stop him falling off the bench.  The older hobbit decided that if he did not get the lad to calm down soon he would likely pass out for he was starting to breathe rather too rapidly.

Standing up, he slipped an arm under Frodo's knees and put the other around his back.  "Put your arms around my neck, Frodo.  Your Uncle is going to carry you to your room.  I think you need to lie down for a little while."  

Feeling too wretched to protest, Frodo allowed himself to be carried to his bed.  Bilbo loosened his nephew's clothing and pulled the bed covers over the still sobbing form.  He drew the curtains to dim the room, pulled up a chair and took one of the lad's hands in his, rubbing it gently with his thumb and trying to soothe him with the low sound of his voice.

"There, now, Frodo………it's alright………..shhhhhhhhhhhhh…………try to go to sleep and your Uncle Bilbo will stay with you………Don't worry……."

Worn out by his emotions, Frodo finally began to drowse.  The sobs subsided, the tears dried and his eyelids began to droop, although for a long time he fought to keep them open and check that Bilbo was still there.  Once or twice Bilbo tried to leave but then his nephew would whimper in his sleep and grope for the reassuring touch.  Eventually, Bilbo reconciled himself to the fact that he would probably be at the bedside for several more hours and settled himself back in the chair, his hand in Frodo's.

All that evening he berated himself for what he saw as his insensitive blindness.  How could an old bachelor like himself take on the rearing of such a young lad?  And so highly strung, too.  He smoothed back the soft dark curls from Frodo's forehead.  And yet, who else was there to look after him?  There had been aunts and uncles aplenty at Brandy Hall; all with much more experience at bringing up children than he and yet, even they had not been able to give Frodo the individual attention that he particularly needed.  Bilbo looked down at the small hand that clung to his so tightly, even in sleep.  Frodo needed a firm anchor and Bilbo was the only person available so Bilbo would have to learn to give up some of his pleasures to concentrate on the lad.  It was a tall order for someone used to considering only his own needs for most of his adult life.

Bilbo smiled to himself.  So this was what parents meant when they said that they would die for their children.  To be a parent he would have to die to his own life and hand it over to Frodo.  It was a little frightening, but then his eyes came to rest on the pale, tear swollen, face before him and he found it was not such a difficult choice after all.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

Bilbo stirred the pea and ham soup again and listened carefully for the sound of the bathroom door opening.  Frodo had been in there for a long time, but then, not only had he been very grimy, but he was also very sore.  Farmer Brownlock had worked him hard, not unreasonably so, but Frodo was not used to such hard manual labour and when he came through the door Bilbo had taken one look at the lad and ordered him off to the bathroom, with instructions to take a long soak.

-0-

Feeling the effects of a long day himself, Bilbo had finally left Frodo's bedside at about midnight.  The tweenager appeared to be sleeping normally at last and Bilbo was in need of his own bed, deciding that he was far too old to sit up in a chair all night.  He may as well have done so, however, because he spent most of the rest of the night lying awake in case Frodo stirred.

At about four o'clock he heard the young hobbit get up and leave for Deep Coomb Farm.  How Frodo had known the time, Bilbo could not guess, as he had forgotten to set the alarm on the mantle clock, but Frodo had dutifully turned up on the Brownlock's doorstep at 5 o'clock.  To his surprise, Mr and Mrs Brownlock gave him breakfast, before Mr Brownlock led him off to the milking parlour.  

Frodo was rather pleased that the Brownlocks did not have a large dairy herd.  Not only did he discover that he did not have a talent for milking but he had been given the job of helping Mr Brownlock's oldest son, Tom, with cleaning up the milking parlour afterwards.

There had been many other dirty and unpleasant jobs throughout the long day but he was never asked to do anything that the Brownlocks did not, and was often set to help one of the many children in their daily tasks.  No mention was made of the reason for his visit and everyone treated him as though he were one of the family, including him in their conversation and inviting him to share their meals.  Rather than make him feel better, this only served to make him feel more contrite, for he was not sure that if the roles had been reversed he would have been so gracious.  

The young hobbit learned many valuable lessons that day that he would remember throughout his life.  His main one being that becoming a gentlehobbit had nothing to do with wealth or position.  Frodo decided that Mr Brownlock was more of a gentlehobbit than he would ever become.

At the end of the day, Mrs Brownlock had hugged him and pressed a large covered basket in to his hands.  For a moment, Frodo was frightened that it would be mushrooms.  It would be several months before the young hobbit regained his love of that particular delicacy.  When he lifted the cloth, however, he found some fresh cured bacon, a clutch of soft bread rolls and a small round of butter.  He thanked them and headed off home, feeling much lighter in spirit.

Unfortunately it had rained, heavily, on the way home and when Frodo arrived back at Bag End he was tired and soaking wet.

-0-

The opening of the bathroom door was accompanied by a cloud of steam and Bilbo called from the kitchen.  "Come and get your supper, Frodo.  I've added some of that nice bacon to the pea soup and we can have those lovely soft bread rolls with it."

"I'm coming, Bilbo."

The older hobbit's eyes twinkled as he set out the bowls.  It was nice to be 'Bilbo' again, instead of 'Uncle Bilbo'.

When Frodo came to the table, Bilbo noticed a change in the lad.  It seemed to his uncle that a new peace had settled over him.  His uncle chuckled, however, when that peace was broken by a loud sneeze from his nephew.  Now that he looked carefully Bilbo could see a slight pinkness to the tip of the lad's nose.  It looked like Frodo was in for a summer cold.

Bilbo filled his nephew's bowl with the thick, fragrant soup and passed him the bread and they both tucked in to their meal.  Afterwards they shared the washing up and then went to sit by the fire in the parlour.  Bilbo lit his pipe and blew the occasional smoke ring and Frodo picked up his book and lit one of the small oil lamps to read by.  Bilbo did not pry into his nephew's day and Frodo was grateful that he did not.  It would take him some time to settle things in his mind.

Bilbo looked up to find Frodo staring in to the fire, the open book left unread on his lap.  

"A penny for them?" he offered.

Frodo blinked.  "I'm sorry, Bilbo.  Did you say something?"

"A penny for your thoughts, lad?  You were a world away for a moment, there."  Bilbo smiled.

Frodo laughed, softly: a sound that lifted Bilbo's heart.  "I was just looking at the fire and I was reminded of your journey to Smaug's mountain.  I was wondering if I will ever have an adventure like that, one day.  I would so like to meet elves."  He looked up at his uncle.  "I love to hear tales about the times when they were the rulers of our world, before they began to leave, over the sea.  I wonder if I will ever see one before they all go."

The germ of an idea began to form in Bilbo's head.  "Well now, I can't guarantee that you will ever meet one but you can read their stories in the books in my study.  All the ones on the top shelf have come from Rivendell."

"But I can't read elvish, Bilbo."  Frodo sneezed again and blew his nose, loudly.

"That's easily remedied.  If you've a mind to learn I'll be quite happy to teach you."

Frodo slammed his book shut and his eyes grew wide.  "Oh, yes please, Bilbo.  When can we start?"

Bilbo chuckled, pleased to see some spirit returning to the young hobbit and gratified that he wanted to learn.  Part of his reason for wanting an heir was so that he could pass on his knowledge and share it with someone.  "Woe there!  It's a little late at night to be starting such a weighty task.  And, if that clock is correct, it is your bed time, anyway.  We can start in the morning, if you still want to."

"I hadn't realised it was that late."  With not a word of complaint, Frodo turned down the lamp, set his book aside and made to leave.  "Goodnight, Bilbo."  On a sudden impulse he bent down and gave his uncle a quick hug.  Bilbo blinked back a tear, but Frodo had already turned to leave the room.

"Goodnight, Frodo, my lad.  And, Frodo?"

"Yes, Bilbo?"

"First lesson.  The term, 'elvish' covers several languages.  You will be learning, Quenya."

"Thank you, Bilbo."  Bilbo heard him repeat it several times as he walked to his bedroom.  "Quenya."


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

As Bilbo had suspected he would, when Frodo arrived at the breakfast table the next morning he looked miserable.  His eyes and nose were running and he had a nasty tickly cough.  The young hobbit made some attempt to appear cheerful but he spent half an hour pushing his food around on his plate, his throat too sore to deal with bacon.

"Well, Frodo.  I think we'd better postpone our first lesson for a few days.  I don't think you're going to be able to concentrate with that runny nose."

Dabbing at his nose, Frodo tried to sit up and look healthier but the attempt only made Bilbo chuckle.  "Don't worry, lad.  I won't forget my promise.  But for now, I think you aught to take yourself back to bed.  Go and make yourself comfortable and I'll bring you something to eat that will be a bit softer on your throat."  When Frodo made to protest Bilbo just shooed him off down the hall to his bedroom.

Once he had undressed and snuggled back in to bed Frodo had to admit that he felt a bit better.  He wiped his nose on a fresh hanky and opened his book, preparing to read.

A little while later Bilbo brought him a breakfast tray.  There was smooth oatmeal with honey and a cup of warm milk with butter and honey to soothe his raw throat.  

When Bilbo came back for the empty tray he found that Frodo had fallen asleep, his book open upon his lap.  Bilbo settled the tweenager down among the pillows and blankets and left with the tray, pleased to see that it had been emptied.  Then he slipped on his cloak and left for the apothecary in Hobbiton.  From the sound of the cough he would need some syrup and, possibly, pastilles for the sore throat.  Some extra hankies would not come amiss either.

When he returned, a couple of hours later, he found Frodo was still sleeping.  He put a hand to the lad's forehead.  It felt a little hot but, given the severity of the cold, that was nothing to worry about.  It was obvious that the lad's sinuses were blocked too for he was breathing through his mouth, which would do nothing to ease his sore throat.  Still, thought Bilbo, at least he may sleep through the worst of the symptoms.  Summer colds tended to be severe but short lived.  He tiptoed out of the room.

It was lunch time before a loud bout of coughing, interspersed with several sneezes, announced that Frodo had woken up.  Bilbo set some water to boil and went in to see how his nephew was doing.  When he entered the room he found him lying on his side, blowing his nose into another fresh hanky.  Although the room was not overly warm, he could see that Frodo's hair was plastered to his brow and his face looked rather flushed.  

The simple act of blowing his nose seemed to exhaust the hobbit and he lay down again, only to struggle upright as he was seized by another bout of coughing.  Bilbo listened with growing alarm as he heard Frodo's chest rattle but the cough itself was dry and did not seem to be helping him clear the congestion.  By the time he had got it under control all the little hobbit could do was curl up against the headboard with his eyes closed.  Bilbo could see that he was shaking.

When he had looked in earlier Bilbo had set out all his purchases from the apothecary, plus some other bits and pieces that he thought may be needed, on the bedside table.  He selected a small tub of ointment and turned to Frodo with as bright a smile as he could muster.

"That's a nasty cough, lad.  Let's see if I can help you."  

Frodo opened his eyes and smiled, weakly.  "I'm sorry to be a nuisance, Bilbo.  It's only a cold.  I'll probably be alright tomorrow.  There's no need to fuss."

Bilbo batted away Frodo's hands when he tried to prevent his uncle unbuttoning his nightshirt.  "Don't be silly, now, Frodo.  There's no point suffering if you can have a little help."  He unscrewed the pot and dipped his fingers into the strong smelling ointment and then began to rub it on to Frodo's chest, growing a little more worried when he felt the heat there.  He was relieved, though, when he felt Frodo's breathing deepen with the application of the peppermint and lavender ointment.

"Thank you, Bilbo."

"Think nothing of it.  Now let's just wrap this blanket around your shoulders to keep you warm……..and a couple of extra pillows so that you're not lying flat.  That will help you breathe a little better.  You just relax there and I'll come back with some tea.  Would you like a pastille to soothe your throat?  I slipped out to the apothecary while you were asleep."

Frodo nodded and Bilbo offered a little paper bag.  Frodo took one of the tiny sweets and popped it in his mouth.  It tasted of peppermint and honey.

Once out of the room, Bilbo closed the door and leaned against it, running a hand over his face.  This was more than just a cold and he had never had to nurse anyone in his life.  He would make the nettle tea and run down to the Gamgee's while it was infusing.  Surely Bel would know what to do.  

He seemed to be staggering from one disaster to another with this boy.


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

"Well, bless you, Mr Bilbo, but is sounds to me like yer doin' fine," announced Bel.

Bilbo was sitting at her kitchen table, head in hands. "Bel, I've never had to look after anyone before, never mind a tweenager. What if I do something wrong and make him worse?"

"You'll be alright. Nursin' is five parts common sense, three parts experience and two parts talent. As far as I can see that puts you at least half way there. Only thing you've got to watch with a fever is not to let him get too chilled. He'll probably sweat a lot and if he does you'll need to change his nightshirt and linens to keep him comfortable. Sponging him down with warm water when you change him will make him feel a bit better but make sure the water isn't too hot or too cold."

Bilbo began to feel a little better. He could do all this. "Thank you, Bel."

"You're welcome. I went through exactly what you're goin' through when my first young 'un got sick. I coped and so will you."

Bilbo stood up. "I'd best be getting back. That tea should be steeped by now."

Just as he was about to leave, Bel called caught his arm. "One thing. If he starts soundin' a bit out of his head come and get one of my young 'uns to fetch the doctor. And if you're stuck for laundry just send your sheets and things down to me."

"I will. And thank you again, Bel."

As he entered Bag End, via the kitchen door, he could hear Frodo coughing loudly. Too loudly. Bilbo realised that the sound was coming, not from the bedroom but from the hallway. Even as he headed for the door into the hall he heard a moan and then the sound of something heavy falling. Bilbo felt as though his heart was pumping ice water as he ran into the hall.

Lying face down on the floor, just beyond the kitchen door, was Frodo. Bilbo knelt down and lifted the tweenager's head onto his lap. Dark lashes were set firmly on pale cheeks, with no flicker of movement behind the closed lids. Dark curls were made darker still by perspiration and the only colour in the pale face was a red nose and two pink blotches on his cheeks. His breathing was rapid and shallow, each breath was accompanied by a loud rattle and the nightshirt clung damply to his chest and back.

Remembering Bel's warning about not letting him get chilled, Bilbo gently lifted Frodo in to his arms and carried him back to bed. There he covered him while he fetched warm water, towels, fresh linens and a dry nightshirt. By the time he had organised all this, Frodo's eyes were beginning to flutter and the older hobbit arrived at his bedside in time to be the first thing that the lad focussed on. 

On waking, Frodo drew a deep breath and immediately started coughing again. Bilbo helped him sit up and rubbed his back until the hacking died down, leaving the tweenager hanging on to his uncle's arm and leaning against his shoulder for support.

"'m…..sorry, Bilbo." Frodo mumbled. He was so exhausted that he seemed to be only half aware of his surroundings.

"Nothing to apologise for, Frodo. Whatever were you doing out of bed anyway?" As he spoke he was unfastening his nephew's sodden nightshirt and Frodo put up no resistance as Bilbo stripped it off him. 

"Needed to go to the privy………dizzy on the way back."

Bilbo shook his head. "I'm sorry, my lad. I should have been here. Let's get you cleaned up and change the linens, so you'll feel a bit more comfortable. I'll get you that tea soon."

Rolling the tweenager on to his side, Bilbo slipped two towels beneath him, and then rolled him back on to their thick absorbency. Wringing out a cloth in peppermint scented warm water he gently swabbed down the overheated body, rolling Frodo on to his side again the do the same for his back. Frodo sighed and closed his eyes at the comfort of his uncle's ministrations. Under other circumstances he would have been horrified at being babied so, but now it just felt so good….. 

When he had finished, Bilbo dried him, rubbed more of the peppermint and lavender ointment on to his nephew's chest and dressed him in a fresh nightshirt. 

"Frodo? Stay awake a little longer for me, lad." Frodo's eyelids slid up and he gazed up into his uncle's concerned face.

"Tired……." He murmured.

"I know, lad. But I need you to sit in a chair for a while, so that I can change the linens, and then you have to drink your medicine. Come on now." So saying, he wrapped Frodo closely in his quilt and carried him to the armchair by the fire. Frodo nestled his head against the high wing of the chair back and revelled in the temporary relief from coughing that the ointment brought.

Bilbo stripped and remade the bed as quickly as he could, then collected his drowsy nephew and set him back in to it, using extra pillows to prop him in a semi-reclining position to ease his breathing. He became a little worried that Frodo would sleep before he could administer the nettle tea. It was good that the tweenager was more relaxed but if he did not get the tea down him he would awake later with no improvement.

He hurried from the room, taking the sheets with him and making a mental tally of the number of changes of linen he owned. 

When he returned, a few minutes later, Frodo was asleep, looking so peaceful that he did not wake him to drink the medicinal tea.

It was several hours before he woke again and evening had drawn in. Once more it was the coughing that awoke him. When he had it under control Bilbo picked up the cooled nettle tea.

"I'm sorry. I know you're tired, but once you've drunk this you can go back to sleep." He put the cup to Frodo's lips. The tweenager grimaced and pulled back sharply, the action setting him coughing again, and Bilbo had to hold him until the fit passed; leaving the lad spent and perspiring once more. His uncle settled him back, hardly daring to meet the accusing eyes that stared up at him.

"Can't, Bilbo…." He whimpered.

Bilbo felt as though his heart would break. He knew that the nettle tea smelled awful and tasted worse but he also knew that it had to be taken.

"I am truly sorry, Frodo, but you must take it. It will ease the congestion. Would it help if I held your nose?" It was the best suggestion he could come up with, although his nephew's nose was so bunged up anyway that he doubted whether it would make any difference.

Frodo sighed, and a tear snaked its way out from the corner of one eye and slid slowly down his cheek. Bilbo watched, helplessly, as the tweenager fought to control the tremor of his bottom lip. Finally, Frodo swallowed.

"It's alright, Bilbo. I'll try again."

Bilbo struggled with his own tears as he brought the cup to Frodo's mouth again and trickled a little of the vile liquid between his cracked lips. Frodo clamped his mouth shut to stop himself spitting it out in reflex and swallowed, whimpering again as he finally managed to get rid of it. Bilbo let him rest for a few moments before trying once more. Frodo opened his mouth, obediently and went through the same procedure again, this time ending up trapped in another bout of coughing. His uncle could not find it in his heart to force any more on him.

Dabbing at the tweenager's face with a damp cloth, he watched as fatigue claimed him and Frodo sank in to sleep. The room was quiet, except for the sound of Frodo's ragged breathing and, once the tweenager's eyes were firmly closed, Bilbo gave in to his own tears.

Throughout the long night Bilbo sat at the bedside. Every couple of hours Frodo would awaken with a terrible cough and Bilbo would soothe him as best he could but the lad seemed to grow worse and worse. With the coming of the dawn, Bilbo decided that it was time to call the doctor. Surely the lad should not be suffering so with a cold?

Bilbo had done all he knew how and still there was no sign of improvement in Frodo's condition. The lad had been suffering for only a few hours but to his new carer, in the dark isolation of the night, it seemed like an eternity.


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

As the dawn chorus got in to full swing Frodo awoke again. At his bedside, Bilbo had been listening to the breathing becoming more and more laboured and knew it would not be long before the difficulty in catching his breath forced him awake once more. He had not been able to take enough of the nettle tea to have much effect and the older hobbit had not the heart to press another dose upon him. 

Bilbo held him while Frodo coughed dryly; rubbing gentle, soothing, circles on his nephew's damp back. He would need to change and bathe him again. When the cough had subsided, Bilbo laid the tweenager back amongst the pillows and smoothed sweat soaked tendrils of hair off his brow.

"Let's try a little tea, Frodo." At his nephew's alarmed expression he added, "It's camomile, with a little honey." The tweenager nodded, in relief, and managed to drink all of the tea. He was desperately thirsty.

"Good, lad. You just rest for a moment and I'll go and fetch something to help with that breathing." With a pat on Frodo's wrist he left.

-0-

Frodo lay still, trying to subdue the strong urge to cough once more. The warm camomile tea had gone some way to easing the dry tickle in his throat but it was threatening to return and the thought of undergoing another coughing fit was terrifying. Somewhere on the bedside table was the small bag of pastilles. Perhaps one of those would help.

With infinite slowness the tweenager levered himself upward, so that he could reach the brown paper bag upon the table. The alteration in his position brought to light a new symptom, however. It seemed to Frodo that, just for a moment, his mind slipped away from his body and when he was next aware he was slumped over the edge of the bed. He blinked, his eyes coming confusedly into focus on the brightly coloured rug at his bedside. 

"Frodo! What happened?" Bilbo's strong hands lifted his shoulders, laying him back and smoothing the wayward hair off his forehead once more. "What were you trying to do?" His uncle sounded very concerned.

"Wanted a pastille…….Think I fainted…...Not sure." The room seemed to be rocking from side to side and kept slipping in and out of focus. He tried closing his eyes but the rocking grew worse so he concentrated on trying to focus on Bilbo's face and lying as still as possible. Slowly, the movement ceased.

-0-

Noting that Frodo's eyes were beginning to focus again, Bilbo sighed in relief. "Do you still want that pastille?"

"Yes, please."

Bilbo slipped one of the soothing sweets into his nephew's mouth. "There, now. Let's see if we can't do something to help clear that breathing."

Frodo watched detachedly, as his uncle began to methodically clear the low bedside table and then set a folded towel upon it and a large bowl upon that. He turned to the hearth, where he had hurriedly set down his tray when he had entered the room. Bringing three small paper sachets, he broke their seals and poured the contents into the bowl. A student of nature, Frodo recognised the dried flowers of lime, along with camomile and peppermint. From the hearth, his uncle brought a kettle of hot water and filled the bowl. A fragrant steam filled the room.

"If I hold you, do you think you could put your head over the bowl? The steam will help to clear your chest."

"I'm not sure, Bilbo. I feel so odd when I try to move." He was sure that if he tried to sit up again the room would start moving.

"I know, lad. I just thought it would be better than the nettle tea." It was almost blackmail and Bilbo hated himself for it, but he had to do something to ease his nephew's breathing

"If you hold me, I'll try, Bilbo," came the small voice, hoarse with coughing.

It took several minutes to get Frodo arranged so that he could lean over the bowl. In the end, Bilbo sat on the edge of the bed with Frodo leaning against his shoulder and the older hobbit supporting his forehead over the fragrant steam. He draped a towel over Frodo's head and the bowl, tenting in the vapour. For some time they sat thus, Bilbo, several times, tensing and supporting his nephew when he felt him sag with dizziness. When he felt the water had grown too cool, Bilbo lifted the towel and settled Frodo back against his pillows, patting his face gently with the corner of a towel. 

The tweenager was completely limp and spent, his eyes closed, with silent tears slipping down his face. As the pinkness caused by the steam subsided Bilbo could see that his nephew's face was ashen, but for the tell tale spots of colour on his cheeks; evidence, if there were need of any, that the fever still burned strongly.

Bilbo picked up the bowl and headed for the kitchen. Sam or the Gaffer would be arriving for work soon. Bilbo watched the window intently as he emptied the bowl and then set too, filling the copper with water to wash the sheets. Sure enough, half an hour later, young Sam arrived to tie up the runner beans in the vegetable plot.

Bilbo called him over and asked him to get his Gaffer to fetch the doctor. Bilbo knew that it may be several hours before help came, though, and was afraid that with the speed this illness was progressing, a few hours may be too long. He realised that Frodo was at least, suffering from influenza, but had also managed to half convince himself that it could be something much more serious; some strange and rare, possibly lethal, childhood disease. 

At about lunch time, just as Bilbo was thinking of bathing and changing his patient again, there was a knock at the door. Abandoning the kettle, he almost ran to open it, hoping it was the doctor, but it was Bel Gamgee, who stood, waiting.

"Sam came with your message, Mr Bilbo, and Gaffer went to fetch Dr Bolger but the Doctor's missus said that he had gone out on his rounds already so it may be some time before he gets here. I've set Daisy to look after my lot and come round as fast as I could to see if I can help." She surveyed his steam damp hair and disarrayed clothing. "If you don't mind me sayin' so, you look a mite frazzled, sir." 

Bilbo laughed, with relief. "I'm not surprised, Bel. I am a mite frazzled, as you put it. Please, come in. Your help is gratefully accepted." He took her shawl and set in on the bench by the door. "I was just about to change the bedding. I'm not sure whether Frodo will want a lady present, though."

Bell smiled, "If he's as sick as you make out I don't think he'll care, anyway my Halfred and Hamson are of his age and I've looked after them often enough. The job will be easier with two of us."

Bilbo acquiesced and led her down the hall, to Frodo's room. The young hobbit's eyes opened slowly and focussed on the new face with difficulty. "Mrs Gamgee?"

"That's right, Frodo. Mrs Gamgee has come along to help. We're going to get you out of that damp shirt and change the sheets so that you're comfortable again. Is that alright?" Bilbo hoped that his nephew wasn't going to be stubborn and was relieved when Frodo just nodded and closed his eyes again.

Bel smiled, brightly. "Well then, that's settled. I'll bring some fresh water," 

The two busied themselves with the task of changing and bathing Frodo once more and arranging him in dry linen. Throughout it all, Frodo lay, unprotesting, even when Bel sponged him down; unable to summon the energy to help or hinder. Once done, Bilbo drew a chair up to the bedside and Bel sat in the chair by the fire, darning socks from the mending basket she had brought with her. She had seen enough of such illnesses to know that there was a lot of waiting involved.

Bel smiled as she recalled the first time her eldest, Hamson, had been ill. He had been but a year old and contracted a summer cold, which had given her two sleepless nights. Those nights were two of the longest in her life; walking up and down the parlour, trying to comfort a wailing child, who simply could not understand that he would feel better in a few hours and only knew that he hurt now. By two o'clock in the morning on the second night, Bel had convinced herself that Hamson was going to die and insisted that Gaffer send for the doctor. The doctor had been very kind but she had felt so silly when he announced that it was only a cold. 

As before, all through the afternoon, after only a couple of hours sleep, Frodo was awakened by violent coughing. This time, however, it was not as dry and Bilbo held a hanky to his mouth and gave him a little water afterwards. When he had the tweenager settled quietly again, Bilbo added a few drops of peppermint oil to a bowl of water and wrung out a cloth to bathe Frodo's pale face.

"Well, Bel Gamgee, you are a ninny hammer! Is that peppermint oil, Mr Bilbo?"

Surprised at Bel's outburst, Bilbo drew back. "Yes. Why do you ask?"

Bel began rummaging in her work basket. "Because I packed in such a hurry I forgot that I'd brought my oil burner." She waved the small pot, triumphantly. "If you can just get me a small stump of candle, I'll put some water in here with a few drops of oil and we'll set it by his bed. It will ease the poor little mite's breathing."

Bilbo shook his head. "Bel, you're a marvel."

And so it was that, two hours later, Dr Bolger entered to the pleasant smell of peppermint oil.

Bel left the room to make the doctor a cup of tea, while he examined Frodo.


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

Doctor Bolger drew the covers back over Frodo's sleeping form and turned to face an anxious Bilbo. The physician smiled.

"He has influenza. There's a bit of it around at the moment. I've been called out to several homes today……….seems to attack the young ones, mainly: Nearly all the Brownlock's children have it. There's not a lot you can do about it but let it run its' course." He pursed his lips. "Looks like Frodo is having a bit of a rough time of it, though. When did he develop the fever?"

"Yesterday. I left him alone during the morning and it was about mid day when I first noticed it. He got worse rapidly after that. I've never seen anyone get sick so quickly."

Dr Bolger chuckled. "It's easy to see you haven't had a lot of experience with young people, Master Bilbo. They seem to do everything at breakneck speed, including getting ill. The good news is that they usually get well equally quickly."

Bilbo plumped down in his chair. "I'm afraid I am in over my head, Doctor. I'm not sure I'm cut out for parenting, after all."

"Now, whatever makes you say that? You seem to have done very well so far. You've done all the right things, although I would suggest you try to get him to drink a little more. The fever is making him lose a lot of fluid and you need to replace it. Aside from that, I cannot fault your actions." He patted Bilbo on the shoulder. "Frodo is a very lucky hobbit to have someone who cares so much for him."

Bilbo smiled up at the physician. "Thank you. I needed that re-assurance. And I will try and get him to drink, when he wakes up."

"I think we may try and help this fever along a little bit, in this case. He's quite a small lad and I'd like to try and get him over this as quickly as possible. Let's see what a hot bath will do. At the very least it may ease his breathing."

Just then there was a tap at the door and Bel re-appeared with the Doctor's tea.

"Thank you, Mrs Gamgee."

Bel looked expectantly at Bilbo, noting the relief on his face. "Its influenza, Bel, nothing more."

"There, now. I thought as much. Beggin' your pardon, but, as the doctor is here now, do you mind if I go and check on my own brood? The Gaffer's alright about it but my Marigold won't eat unless I'm there. I can come straight back." 

"Why, bless you Bel. Of course you can go, and if you need to stay at home I'll understand. Thank you for helping me today. I think I would have fallen to pieces without you."

"No you wouldn't, sir……and remember what I said earlier about nursin'? Well I recon you're seven parts there, headin' for the full ten." She collected up her work basket and left. "I'll see myself out and I'll be back in a little while."

Dr Bolger turned to Bilbo. "Bel's a good woman. Now. Let's get a bath run for this young fellow. Do you want to do that, while I check on him again?"

"Yes, of course." Bilbo went to check on the copper. He had been heating water to wash some sheets. There should be enough for a bath.

By the time Bel returned, Frodo was lying quietly in the hot bath, supported by Bilbo. The room was filled with the scent of lavender and something else that smelled of summer days and fresh rain. 

Frodo had protested at first, struggling weakly against the heat and the arms that held him, but he had not the strength to fight long and he had eventually subsided, his head lolling helplessly in the crook of his uncle's arm, his eyes half closed and unfocussed. Bilbo found the position, bending over the tub, most uncomfortable but would not have moved if his back was breaking.

When the water began to cool they lifted the tweenager out and dried him off. Bel changed the bedding while the others dressed Frodo in a fresh nightshirt and when they had towelled his hair he was brought back to bed. Doctor Bolger noted, with some satisfaction, that the young hobbit's breathing was easier. As they were tucking him in, Frodo opened his eyes fully.

"Well, hello there, Frodo, my lad. I was beginning to forget what colour those eyes were," smiled Bilbo. 

Frodo tried to blink the room in to focus. "Mrs Gamgee?"

Bell pushed a few strands of loose hair behind his ear. "That's right, Master Frodo. I'm still here."

Dr Bolger put a glass of water in Bilbo's hand. "Come on, now, Frodo. How would you like a nice cool glass of water?" and Bilbo lifted his nephew's head before he could say yes or no. As it happened, Frodo very much wanted some water and finished the glass before his uncle set him back among the pillows again.

Frodo noticed the stranger behind Bilbo for the first time. "Who are you?"

Bilbo grinned. The fact that the lad's curiosity had returned must surely be a good sign. "This is Dr Bolger." He reluctantly relinquished his place to let the doctor get to his patient.

"How do you feel, Master Frodo?"

"A little better, I think. Not dizzy any more and my chest doesn't hurt as much."

"You had your poor uncle quite worried there for a while. But I think you're over the worst of it. Now I'm going to leave Master Bilbo some instructions and I want you to do exactly as he tells you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

Bilbo ruffled his nephew's still damp hair. "Why don't you try and go back to sleep, now? I'll go and get my instructions." He winked at the tweenager and Frodo managed to smile back before he closed his eyes.

Dr Bolger drew Bilbo to the fireplace. "He's still a little warm but I think the fever has broken. You'll be able to tell properly within the next hour. He will probably sleep a lot over the next day or so. It's taken a lot out of him and he's not a big lad to start with. You'll need to start him eating tomorrow: nothing too heavy to start with. He probably won't feel much like eating but try and tempt him. Toast or oatmeal to start with, then on to soups, perhaps custards or a little mashed vegetable. Nothing too highly flavoured and it's better to give him a little often, rather than trying to force big meals on him. Build him up to proper food slowly."

"Keep him in bed tomorrow and then let him up for a few hours the next day. Increase the time out of bed until he's back to normal in about four days. Although, if he wants to go slower, let him. I'll call back at the end of the week to see how he's getting on." He grinned and shook Bilbo's hand.

"Congratulations, Master Bilbo. You have just made it through the first childhood illness."

Bel grinned. "Ten out of ten, Mr Bilbo."


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

Over the next few days Frodo's health improved steadily. After the second week Bilbo kept his promise. They soon fell in to a routine. Every morning they would both retire to the study, where Bilbo would teach his nephew Quenya. He found that Frodo was a very quick learner and, within a short time he was able to translate short passages from some of the simpler texts, with Bilbo's help.

In the afternoons Bilbo would continue with his own studies and Frodo would amuse himself. More often than not, he would continue his practice of finding a strong old tree and climbing on to one of the lower branches to read a book. Sometimes Daisy Gamgee would stop and say hello, for she always seemed to know where he was hiding. Sometimes she would bring her younger brother or sister. Marigold was a bright hearted, if plain looking seven year old and Sam was a terribly serious ten year old, whom the Gaffer had already given little tasks to do in Mr Bilbo's garden.

Whilst he was developing a serious dislike of the seemingly ever present Daisy, Frodo quite liked Sam. Although there was a big difference in their ages, the younger hobbit's serious nature made his seem older and Frodo's lighter temperament made him seem younger.

Unlike the Gaffer, if Sam was set a little job in the garden, he was willing to let Frodo lend a hand. The tweenager was careful not to get caught by Sam's Da, however, because he suspected that it would be Sam who got in to bother, not Frodo. In return, Frodo would tell Sam stories about elves. The lad seemed even more eager to meet elves than Frodo, if that were possible, and avidly soaked up any information his friend offered.

When Frodo confided his friendship to Bilbo one evening the older hobbit beamed.

"I wonder if Sam would like to join us in our studies," he mused.

Frodo nearly jumped up and down with delight. "Oh, Bilbo. That would be wonderful! Can I go and ask him?"

"Woe there! Just a minute. It's not Sam we should be asking, but the Gaffer. He may not want his son to learn to read. Some people would consider it improper for a lad of Sam's station."

Frodo frowned in confusion. At Brandy Hall all the children learned to read, as a matter of course. He found it unthinkable that anyone would actually refuse the opportunity when it was offered. Bilbo smiled as he watched the expressions chase across Frodo's open features.

"Don't worry, Frodo. I think I can persuade the Gaffer. I have a helper on the inside." He tapped the side of his nose and winked. "Let me handle it. Don't you go saying anything to Sam until I say it's safe, and then I'll let you break the news to him."

And so it was that, with a great deal of pressure on the Gaffer from Bel, Sam would arrive twice a week at Bag End, with slate and chalk, for his reading and writing lessons and a new friendship was birthed.

Late one summer morning Bilbo and Frodo were sitting with their elevenses in the study when there was a knock at the door. Frodo went to answer. It was the postman with a letter for Bilbo.

Not normally a hobbit given to examining other people's mail, Frodo was, none the less, intrigued by this piece of post. It was in an envelope of the finest cream velum, bearing a large, intricate green wax seal and the writing was in a large but elegant flowing hand. 

The tweenager handed it over to his uncle and then watched out of the corner of his eye as Bilbo opened it and read the contents. The older hobbit's face lit up and he looked across at his nephew.

"How do you feel about a little four day hike at the end of this week, Frodo, my lad?"

"That would be fun, Bilbo. It's a long time since we went for a hike. Did you have anywhere in particular in mind?" 

Bilbo's smile turned into a chuckle. "Why don't you leave that to me? It will be my surprise. I think you will like it, though."

Frodo let loose one of his sunny laughs. "Alright, Bilbo. You can keep your secrets, but I bet I work it out before we get there."

Bilbo's eyes twinkled merrily. "You can try." He slipped the letter in to his desk drawer and locked it with a flourish; popping the key, on its fob chain, into his waistcoat pocket.

-0-

And so it was that, three days later, the two were crossing the footbridge across the Water and walking south at a leisurely pace. After lunch they turned more south easterly and Frodo started trying to guess where they were heading. They were almost paralleling the East Road, which lead to the Brandywine. Every time Frodo offered a suggestion, however, Bilbo would just chuckle and shake his head.

It was perfect weather for walking. The sun was not too strong and there was a cool, light breeze, with hardly a cloud in the sky, so they camped overnight in a hollow beyond a large stand of old elm trees, rather than seeking out an inn. Over a leisurely supper Bilbo told one of his many stories of the history of the elves and Frodo listened avidly, trying to remember every detail so that he could pass it on to Sam when they got back.

The next day, Bilbo led them in a more easterly direction, which convinced Frodo that they were going to visit Brandy Hall. The prospect did not terrify him as much as it would have done a few months before. He felt secure in the knowledge that his uncle would not be sending him back to live there and was quite looking forward to seeing some of his cousins. Bilbo, on the other hand, would neither confirm nor deny that Brandy Hall was their destination.

Throughout their journey Bilbo had Frodo review some of their lessons in Quenya. With no books to read, he concentrated on pronunciation, something that he had not bothered over much with in the past, wanting the lad to understand the language first. As the journey went on, Frodo began to discover just how lyrical a language Quenya was. He envied his uncle for having heard it spoken by elves during his stay in the magical valley of Rivendell for it seemed to the tweenager that the spoken words flowed as beautifully as the written ones. If elves were as beautiful as their language they were to be wondered at indeed.

For most of the second day they followed the road to Stock and by tea time they had reached the eves of the Woody End. Frodo wanted to move on, so that they could reach Brandy Hall before supper, but his uncle insisted that they camp here for the night. And so it was that they sat within the pleasant coolness of the wood and ate their tea. Afterwards, Bilbo laid back and Frodo was surprised to see him go to sleep. After a while, bored of the silence, Frodo lay back too and within a little while, lulled by the whisper of the leaves and evening birdsong, he fell asleep.


	12. Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

Bilbo shook his nephew awake just after sunset. "Come along, Frodo. Time we were packing up."

Only half awake, Frodo simply sat in confusion, while Bilbo began refilling his back pack. "I thought we were spending the night in this wood. Isn't it a bit late to be moving on?"

Bilbo merely laughed and caught his nephew's hand, hoisting him to his feet and pushing his pack on him. "If you don't hurry up we shall be late. Pack up your things now and dowse the fire." Too dazed to object further, Frodo rammed his few bits into his pack and went to the stream to fetch water, taking a moment to splash his face whilst he was there.

When he returned to their camp site Bilbo had shouldered his pack and seemed to be listening. Frodo put out the fire and then smothered it in earth. "Bilbo, what are we doing………." His question was cut short by a quick wave of his uncle's hand. Beckoning him to follow the older hobbit struck off away from the path they had been travelling and headed into the trees.

A full moon was rising and a thousand stars added their twinkling light so that travelling was as easy as in daylight.

Ahead of them, Frodo gradually became aware of a soft murmur, accompanied by the jingle of harness and the delicate clip of fine horse's hooves. Within the shadow of the trees there was the flicker of movement and the murmur became the sound of voices, singing softly……..no…….not singing, Frodo realised. The voices were talking but the voices were so beautiful and the language so musical that he had mistaken it for singing. Whoever was approaching was speaking in Quenya.

"Bilbo! Come back. We will be seen," hissed Frodo, urgently, grasping his uncle's coat tails and yanking Bilbo back most unceremoniously. The young hobbit was startled by a bright peel of silver laughter to his left and spun about to face the most beautiful creature he had ever seen in his life.

This was no hobbit, nor was it any of the big clumping men that were sometimes seen at the borders of the Shire. The Elf stood, bow held loosely in his left hand, and waited for Frodo to regain his composure. Frodo could only stare, open mouthed.

The fair figure was tall and lithe; not just tall by hobbit standards but taller than any man Frodo had ever seen, standing about six feet four high. Not as broad across the shoulders as a man he was dressed in brown and green leathers, embroidered richly in fine silver thread. Long hair, as black as the night sky, was caught back at his temples in fine braids to expose the delicate tips of his pointed ears; and his skin was as fine as alabaster, almost glowing in the pale moonlight. 

As Frodo's examination reached the face he was drawn to the bright glimmer of the figures eyes. In the moonlight they were pools of quick silver but he guessed that in the daylight they would be grey. Although the face that held them showed no lines of age the eyes told of centuries of knowledge and experience and Frodo felt their gaze look at him and then in to him, as though searching out every corner of his mind.

He was brought back to reality with a start when Bilbo pinched his arm and found the stranger laughing still. "You were seen fully half an hour ago, Master Hobbit, when you washed your face in the stream. We have been listening to you thrashing through the undergrowth for some time." Frodo felt himself blushing. Hobbits could move very quietly but when the Elf moved to pass him his softly booted feet made not a whisper of sound on the leaves and twigs underfoot. When he turned to watch him pass Frodo found that the rest of his companions had joined him and there were now eight of the exquisite figures; four male and four female and all tall and dark haired. Behind them stood eight fine grey horses. Still, the young hobbit could not gather his scattered wits.

"Elen sila lumenn' omentielvo," came Bilbo's voice to his left. Frodo had at least the presence of mind to join his uncle in a low bow but all the Quenya Bilbo had been so carefully training him in went completely out of his head. To his surprise the Elves bowed or curtsied in return. 

"Saesa omentien lle," came the lilting reply from eight soft voices. 

One phrase finally surfaced from the mud that was sloshing within the younger hobbit's head. "Mae govannen." 

One of the ladies smiled and Frodo's blush deepened to be addressed by such beauty. "Well met, indeed, Master Frodo."

Another of the males stepped forward. "My name is Garand and this is my brother, Delulas. Here also are Henduil, and his brother, whom you have already met, Tinaldor. The ladies are Fiondra and her sister, Sethiel, with their mother, Vilmarith; and Aniviel, who is wife to Delulas. My Lord Elrond sends his greetings and bade me look for you on the road."

Bilbo drew Frodo forward. "Aaye, Master Garand. I am Bilbo Baggins, of Hobbiton, in the Shire and this is my nephew and heir, Frodo Baggins. I am honoured that you would meet with us." Garand held out a hand and beckoned them forward and all turned back in to the wood and resumed their quiet trek through the moonlit woods, now with Bilbo and Frodo amongst them. Frodo found himself walking between the husband and wife, Delulas and Aniviel. Wordlessly, Delulas reached down and took Frodo's pack, tying it to his horse's saddle with his own. 

"Diola lle"

"You are most welcome, Master Frodo. My Lord Elrond said that you had but newly begun your lessons in our tongue. I must complement you on your pronunciation."

Frodo shook his head. "I'm afraid I know only a few words and I would not dare to try and hold a conversation. I thank you for speaking in Westron and I hope it is not a bother for you."

Aniviel laid a hand, lightly, on Frodo's shoulder. "The journey from Imladris has been long and uneventful and the onward journey to the Grey Havens will probably be much the same. I am grateful for the diversion of your company, Master Frodo and I am looking forward to hearing some tales of this beautiful country you call, The Shire, when we stop for supper." Frodo desperately wished that he could stop blushing every time one of them looked at him.

Ahead of him he could hear Bilbo and Garand exchanging quiet conversation but, for the most part, the only sounds the group made as they drifted between the trees like shadows, was the whisper of some short exchange or the jingle of the horses harness.

For some time they travelled thus, until Garand led them off to the right, and up a long green ride, which snaked slowly upwards until, at the top of a hill, it opened out into a wide green pasture, surrounded on three sides by wood. Eastward the ground fell away, steeply and Frodo could see the tops of trees below them and beyond them the twinkling lights of the village of Woodhall.

They left the horses here to pasture and, bringing their packs, the elves turned right. Garand drew aside the branches of a laurel and signalled the hobbits through the gap he had formed. Beyond all was dark, but suddenly lights began to blaze and Frodo saw Henduil kindling torches around a wide space, roofed like a hall, with a living canopy of branches. At its centre Tinaldor began laying a fire and around that were set several sawn rings of tree trunks of just the right size to form seats. The ladies began unpacking food and drink and Frodo offered to help but they turned him aside, stating that he was their guest, and bade him sit with his uncle by the now merry fire.

The food that night was some of the best Frodo ever tasted in his life and after the meal the elves began to sing. The young hobbit understood little of the words but was content to listen to the clear voices singing in such sweet harmonies that they brought tears to his eyes. With each song, however, the young hobbit found himself growing increasingly drowsy, until his chin was resting on his chest. He would have fallen if Delulas had not caught him and lifted him into his arms, bearing him away to a leafy bower and covering him close with blankets from Frodo's pack. One final song wove itself within his dreams:

****

A Elbereth Gilthoniel,   
**silivren penna míriel**  
**o menel aglar elenath!**  
**Na-chaered palan-díriel**  
**o galadhremmin ennorath, **  
**Fanuilos, le linnathon**  
**nef aear, sí nef aearon!**

When Bilbo woke him the next morning the elves were gone and Frodo felt bereft; his heart aching to think of such exquisite creatures leaving the world.

"Well, Frodo, my lad. What do you think of elves, now?" beamed Bilbo.

"I don't think I could put it into words, Bilbo. I am so glad that you arranged for me to meet some but I also feel very sad that they are all leaving. I wonder if the world will become a very dark and dour place without them."

Bilbo pulled him into a hug. "I know, lad. I know………Oh, I almost forgot. Lord Elrond has sent you a gift." Bilbo reached into his pack and pulled out a small, carefully wrapped, package, handing it to his nephew.

"Why ever would such a great elven lord send a present to me?" Frodo accepted it, turning it over and over in his hands. "What is it?"

"Garand did not know. There's only one sure way to find out and that's to open it, lad."

Frodo tugged at the bright green silk that bound it and ribbon and pale green paper fell away to reveal a small, black bound book. Frodo opened it and exclaimed. "It's a dictionary, Bilbo! A Quenya dictionary." On the first page, in the same flowing script that had graced the envelope of Bilbo's letter, was written, "For Frodo Baggins, Elf Friend of the House of Imladris."

Bilbo's smile widened. "Now there are two Elf Friends in the Shire. I am one and you are the other. I think that truly makes you my heir."

THE END

Elen sila lumenn' omentielvo _A star shall shine on the hour of our meeting_

Saesa omentien lle_Pleasure meeting you_

Mae govannen_Well met_

Aaye_Hail_

Diola lle_Thank you_

A Elbereth Gilthoniel,   
silivren penna míriel  
o menel aglar elenath!  
Na-chaered palan-díriel  
o galadhremmin ennorath,   
Fanuilos, le linnathon  
nef aear, sí nef aearon!

__

O! Elbereth who lit the stars, from glittering crystal slanting falls with light like jewels from heaven on high the glory of the starry host. To lands remote I have looked afar, and now to thee, Fanuilos, bright spirit clothed in ever-white, I here will sing beyond the Sea, beyond the wide and sundering Sea


End file.
